


Turn Around

by ellasanto



Category: The Devil Wears Prada (2006)
Genre: Established Miranda Priestly/Andrea Sachs, F/F, Mirandy, after Paris
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-08
Updated: 2019-04-08
Packaged: 2020-01-06 21:13:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18396470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellasanto/pseuds/ellasanto
Summary: We are not always good at moving on...— Six.. Shit, what have you done?— I put my head on the guillotine.





	Turn Around

**Author's Note:**

> English is not my native language, so forgive me of mistakes. Translated by BETA, corrected.
> 
> Always writing with songs, playlist: https://open.spotify.com/user/luhrsantos/playlist/4FJUKtwQVyEYV5hKJA4PVa?si=yz6NWtl_TDmoMULWHXN9jg

**_Wild World (acoustic version) - Joanna Wang ♪_ **

It was after eleven at night, and apparently with the twins with theirs father, there weren’t many reasons why Miranda went home. A conditioned life to work for the past four years, intensified even more. Perhaps she had just discovered another good reason to be divorced, there wouldn't be Stephen, or any man at home to scold the fact of staying up late at Runway.

It was strange to her, stagnant in the chair of her office, how futile been for a good chunk of time that day. But the day seemed even more confusing to her assistants, who after hours of silence, were released. Some unknown way, be on Runway alone brought some kind of comfort for an empty long inhabited on her chest.

Four years after Paris, and Miranda Priestly still wondered why. Apparently, the fact of being easily hated not seems a convincing reason. It was as if she had something more, as if Andrea Sachs was too good to take for this stupid reason. After all, there already creatively fantasized her death and remained at her side.

It would be the fact of not being worthy of the dedication of the younger? Or the fact of being compared to her? The ability to look like her had been a monstrous idea for Andrea, it hurt. Miranda would in some part it was stupidly insecure? It would be unbelievable such thoughts to take possession of her mind. Definitely, be like her was the thing that everyone wanted and not a reason to make someone run in the opposite direction.

But, greater than this questioning, was the justification of why it always come back to the fore. How could something so tiny in your life cause such a strong fuss whenever thought? She believed, for all these years, it was the simple fact that no one, ever - and never in fact - have caught her off guard. Miranda is always one step ahead of everyone, and there was a reason for her nickname ... She lived up to her figure.

And Andrea Sachs challenged the wrath of the Devil.

Usually the professional life that the north-west girl would be the ruins, as no one turns her back on Miranda Fucking Priestly and out unscathed. For some time, since the second after she tried to contact Sachs, anger dominated all her thoughts, and she had sworn that the maximum that Andrea would be professionally it was the newspaper columns of Ohio up-neighborhood.

But what happened four years ago still bothered the chief editor. E-mail, her body stiffening in her chair and, almost as if to leave no escape route, a phone call.

Todd Haynes looked very comfortable in calling her, as if they were friends of decades and the conversation that would stretch was extremely common to have. Miranda was not stupid, and even if he could not see, put the rehearsed smile on his lips - knew how it would interfere in the tone she used - and wondered what could make the front.

But all the politeness fell immediately with the question of Haynes. And, without thinking one second, let the tone low and cutting voice _: "That of all the assistants I ever had, she was, by far, my biggest disappointment. But you would be an idiot if you not hire her. That's all."_ And so she hung up, let out the breath she did not know she was holding.

Those were not the plans. At no time since the anger dominated thinking about her former assistant, deliver it to a tray editorial was an option. In Paris, she would let Andrea come back, and she knew it. Knew that the slightest apology would be enough, something like "needed time" was pardonable to have your best assistant back.

But Sachs did not return.

And now she will never return.

Apparently, that informal recommendation was enough to double the supply of Andrea Sachs in less than a year. From reporter - like it was just a test, as pointed Todd - To the Head of Reportage of the New Yorker Mirror.

Miranda could boast, use this to get some fruit in the future, but who she wanted to fool? She knew the potential Sachs, knew from when she learned of the assistant dreams, she would take very well to the editorial.

It was not a whim - because Miranda never made whim beyond their daughters - when offered the Andrea small writing tasks on the Runway. She had promised some links to some editorial success in New York, but did not expect the younger betray her as hard as when in Paris.

It was with a bitter taste in the mouth, something close to disgust regarding the New Yorker Mirror. The truth, even if not admitted, was that she was jealous with possession of Todd Haynes with Andrea Sachs. That outrageous style girl, which arrived lost to Elias-Clarke should be hers alone. But knew it was too odious person to keep her at her side.

The head of Miranda gave a snap to give reverie account, how many years her mind traveled and clock turning to the next day. She tried not to think more about her instinctive attitude of the past or as her heart pounded in her chest with just the memory. Instead, she continued to fuel hatred by Sachs and her terrible ability to get her out of control so often.

— Five minutes. — She ordered in her husky tone against the phone, as soon as Roy's voice was present.

 

*

 

**_Anna Wintour - Azealia Banks ♪_ **

 

The flashes flooded the dark room; bursting on the body of the model in front of the camera and making the cold blue eyes had turned in disgust at what was happening. Her simple exit from room the room lifted some fearful glances and four pairs of Steiger heels clicked behind Miranda.

With the voice tight throat, the second assistant dared to break one of the protocols. — Miranda, what _-.._.

 The repressive look of the first assistant, Melanie, was enough for the younger in a dry and regret having opened his mouth.

 — There's something wrong, Miranda? — Janes, responsible for the fashion department, who interrupted her footsteps and saved the girl of any expulsion.

 Miranda stopped the click of her Gucci heels and slowly turned to the woman. — You tell me. Is there anything wrong with Madison Byrne?

 The woman's eyes widened, as saying that there was something wrong with one of the best models in the world? — N-No. — Deep breath. — There is nothing wrong with Byrne.

— So what is it? — She took a step forward. — Something with Eddie Biasi? — The woman trembled and shook her head quickly, also could not blame the photographer. — So you're telling me that the problem came from the Department of Fashion...

 — Miranda ... — Was explicit despair in those eyes.

 — Nigel will be extremely frustrated to see their work being thrown in the trash. Only a session that he can not participate and ... — The look ran throughout the body of the woman and returned directly to black eyes. — You might want to tell him before going home.

 The woman was helpless and behind. The red eyes of Miranda's first assistant clung on compassion for that poor girl. But Melanie's growl sounded like a warning, that if she did not behave, would be the next.

 — Tell Emily she is responsible for the Department of Fashion, and the request was for Blue Turqueza and not Nebulas. — Miranda continued, stopping her footsteps abruptly when she noticed an envelope on one of Stef's table in the room. — Is that...

 The paper ran under her fingers, her bright blue eyes were fixed on the perfect highlight handwriting and felt a knot form in her stomach to recognize it. Was extreme impudence that it was on the ground Runway, after all, no one would dare mention in that place the name of Andrea in hers presence.

 Fists clenched, her heart jumped painfully and a part of hers wanted to take immediate satisfaction with the owner of that invitation. She left then and it apparently had broken some barriers to the younger - and, it seems, also of some employees.

 Unless ... — Nigel. — She whispered, closing her eyes and letting out a long sigh. Her blood was boiling, but as if she had never seen such a thing, turned to face the pathetic figure of her second assistant still looking terrified.

  — I hope you don't believe that I had take any intelligent part of your brain. — Growled. — Go!

She observed the legs shuffling and the girl disappear from sight in seconds, making her hold her breath and turn your attention to Stef, who also caught two collars in front of the dress chosen by Miranda.

  — Dior. — Chose before returning her gaze to the book at hand. — I want some Alexander samples for next season. — She delegated to her first assistant.— A new collection of Hermès must be on my desk till 5pm. Redefine the meeting with René Richard. Take Patricia, she should not spend more time than she need away from home.

  — Miranda, Christian Thompson is on the line, asking if-

 — Thompson? — She stopped, her voice coming out as a jump in her throat – albeit low and unnoticeable to others.

 The mention of the name of the one who masterminded her fall with Jacqueline and Irv made her whole body shake with rage. It was a discharge of years ago at a time on her shoulders, as if all those who purged of her life returned to torment her. She could not do such a meeting with Christian Thompson, and had been really surprised at the insistence of the same. Then, turning to Melanie, she offered her best Priestly look, who made the girl shudder.

  — I will say to him that there's no space. — The assistant said quickly.

Miranda held the eye roll, as she chose two more pieces with Stef and finished the main look for a new photo shoot, that would happen in a few hours. When she was free for a few minutes, she held the aspen paper and continued her steps towards the only one who could give her answers.

  There was no greeting, not even the sound of his jump was enough to warn of her approach. It was only the door closing behind her and Nigel bouncing in her seat.

  — I assume that there will be some grudges never passed. — He muttered, his eyes still intent on image evaluated.

  — I thought this had been overcome, Nigel. — She snapped. — Moreover, it was not me who refused a proposal for Guy Laroche.

  — And leave you? — He poked where he knew it would hurt the publisher, wanting to bring the subject up. — Oh, not yet. Men's Runway seems to me a good apology.

 — Keep repeating, often this is the secret of success. — She said biting, letting her gaze back to the moodboard taped to the wall, as her finger wrapped in brown paper. — What is the problem for people to understand one Turquoise? — She ran her fingers over the fabric glued to the side of a quote from Marc Jacobs, _"Style is much more interesting than fashion."_

  — Poor Janes ... — He watched over his glasses and held her smile. — I know that with the second edition of Footwear, put Emily was an excellent idea.

  — She could not stay at your heels forever. — She murmured. — And I always liked her good choices for shoes.

  It was funny how things had evolved between him and Miranda from the episode with Jacqueline in Paris. Somehow lost Andrea Sachs messed with some hidden part of Priestly and reconnect with their unique (and away) friend, seemed the most obvious solution to deal with such resentment.

  But it was clear denial that the publisher was living, feeding a hatred that Nigel knew did not exist. At that time, it was as if the strain on Miranda's shoulders had decreased, and much of it was Andrea's fault. She could deal with little things that took time and patience to Priestly, and thus allowed the publisher only focuses on that really mattered.

  But Andy was gone. And Miranda found herself surrounded by incompetent, and with some anguish that she could not name.

  The silence became snappy and Nigel rolled his eyes to see that the woman would not give the first step. You would never see Miranda Priestly crawling over anything, not even for a subject that bothered her for years. He knew that, even for him, was a dangerous territory that was about to cross, nothing was as simple as it revolved around that left her in Paris.

— Still have not given answer. — He killed curiosity. — And a long time I have not seen her, if that is your object of interest.

 — What do you mean?

Nigel held his roll of eyes. — There's something for a companion, but I believe that's not of your interest. And, well, Jean does not deny how much he's a Sachs' fan, he will be honored with the proposal and, if all goes well, I will be rewarded.

  Miranda twisted her face with Overture, but felt a stab of adrenaline running through your body. It would be a great daring even to her, even believing that the first cheek had left Andrea to send it there.

   — I could do more than the Mirror.

  — I know that. — Nigel continued to focus on the images in front of him and gave a small smile to note that Miranda heels nearly pierced the floor with steps in circles. He observed when she finally moved to the exit. — Miranda? — And when he observed that the footsteps stopped, he maintained those cold and restless eyes. — Maybe you can find another time to Dominique Sirop.

  When he saw a small pink color up by the skin of Miranda's neck, Nigel chose to look away and hold his laughter. It was good to keep the line of least for the woman, he knew how much his attitude could frustrate her and pushed her away from the little he could. But listen to the order that the publisher gave one thousandth and unhappy substitute of Andrea, almost choked on his own sob.

  — Find another time to Dominique and release all my schedule of friday after 11am. Call Valentino and say that it is a special occasion; I will have time to review your choices. — And as she sat behind her desk, noting that there was no coffee on her, an exhausted sigh escaped her mouth. — Is it so hard to get a coffee in this place? It's beyond personal ability to accomplish this task?

  Lindsay, Justine, Jane, Hannah ... Whatever it was the name of that second assistant, she was still staring Miranda with her wide-eyed and hot cheeks. Holding the hot latte in her small hands

 — I-I...

  And, with that look butcher, she took the body and turned her chair when she took the last notes on her desk. — That’s all.

 

 

***

 

 

**_Total eclipse of the heart - Jill Andrews_ ** **_♪_ **

It was true that no one knew of his appearance at the event that day, his schedule was free and there was no assistant with panic eyes behind her. But the simple movement of your steps always attracted those unwanted paparazzi, and as expected, Devoción Coffee was not arranged for the uproar was happening on their doorstep.

It was not as if anyone expected Miranda Fucking Priestly go through New York and would step in on Brooklyn, much less went to a small cocktail launch of a book of fiction of a small author. Further the author is her former assistant. 

— Miranda Priestly, you always surprise me.

— Nigel ... — She greeted him with a nod and accepted the kindness of his hand.

Art director left his analytical look running all over the body of the chief editor, and even though he was evaluating the woman, the ecstatic sigh escaped her mouth. Miranda was wearing Prada, a red suit female couture, accentuating every centimeter of her body and finished with a Louboutin.

— The Devil in Prada ... — He hissed.

Miranda's eyes turned dark at the mention of that nickname, but seeing the wonder in Nigel's eyes, she just rolling her eyes. — Judging by your look, I think the expectations are in agreement.

— If your intention is to kill Six, you're on the right track. — Nigel sang.

— Kill her? Oh no...

— You two ... — He sighed ecstatically, still admiring Miranda. — That always sounded relevant.

— Wh -... — She swallowed dry, feeling a blush take her cheeks. — What do you mean with 'always sounded'?

— Oh, you know ... Gossip and ... — He looked up and his legs trembled slightly. — Miranda, excuse me, but it was hot.

So Miranda's face became a full shade of pink.

— One more word and the maximum that you'll see of Men's Runway is your edition with dedication of another editor, coming to you in the New York suburb. — She barked, leaving Nigel weak, but slightly satisfied, back.

The event was small but well organized. The Coffee Shop quickly positioned itself how much the paparazzi and there was no torment on the inside, which left Miranda with a twinge of satisfaction. But it was the least she could expect from an event organized by Andrea Sachs.

The desire for revenge led Miranda there, something that resembled a fast and terrifying appearance. Her desire was that Andrea understands that, regardless of the time, she still had control over hers footsteps. Was the warning that she didn't gave years earlier, the proof that nobody left unscathed after turning her back on Priestly.

But with the assumptions of Nigel, she just kept away from the person in focus. And trying to justify her actions, she believed that the hunting joke could leave the brunette even more uncomfortable. She knew that of all those greetings, Andrea expected to receive hers.

Nigel sipped his glass when a laugh escaped her throat and drew immediately the icy eyes of Miranda. The publisher followed the direction, and a wide open path, she may notice Andrea fidgeting uncomfortably in her seat, while a woman whispered something in her ear.

— It's like they say, Miranda. When you arrive there is a change in the energy of the place ... — He laughed, amused by the panic that settled in the eyes of their Six. — She became even better, right?

Rolling her eyes to the little game of Kipling, she muttered angrily. — Acceptable.

— To be fair. She learned something in Runway, at least.

— Your teachings were not all wasted, Nigel. — She quickly looked for the closest one from a friend. — Excuse me, do not intend to lose a lot more of my time.

The man rolled his eyes, settle down and have a good view of the scene that would extend. He watched as her brown eyes widened and panic actually took possession of them. Prada red reflected in those enormous orbs and you can see the youngest swallow dry. He laughed playfully.

Miranda let her gaze run for each centimeter of Andrea, satisfaction shone eyes when she noticed a Valentino, velvety floral, cover all your skin up at the knees. Her gaze lingered longer on exposed skin, ending with an Alevi, then return to the apprehensive eyes of the younger.

— Miranda.

The oldest could see the effort to keep her voice steady, and a glow passed her blue eyes. — Andrea. — Greeted, enjoying the effect that she still had on the younger. — I see you can handle better with books than with mobiles.

The cold, low voice, as always, accompanied the moment slid the leaves of the edition under her fingers. The contact lasted in the name Sachs recorded on the paper and, after a long sigh; she dragged the book toward the writer.

The publisher could see the seizure of Andrea and the same sat slowly back to his chair. — Do you want me to...

— Autograph, please.

— Miranda, I...

— After Place de la Concorde, I do not believe that cornered personality covers you.

— It was just a phone.

— If it is as you think ...

— You gave me a recommendation. — Andrea accused suddenly finding the strength, and received the cold Priestly look. — Why? — The publisher felt his heart jump and clenched his jaw when she received one pair of brown eyes to you. — I know I could have ended any chance my, it was enough just a word, but did not. Why?

— The autograph, please. — The look that clipped the youngest, went back to the book in his hand and pushed some more. — Is your work schedule.

And there was the petulance that seemed to never abandon the girl. The subpoenaed received was impossible to be accepted, there was no chance to explain, when she didn't even knew why. Four years that Miranda regret having released that girl, four years that Andrea had become a myth within the Runway. Four years and everything was still a fresh memory.

Miranda would not be able to sustain those brown eyes, for not knowing how much she could find in them. And, after all, she just realized that she had made the second biggest mistake related to that girl. Again, she had lost control of the whole situation and left Sachs ran free with their good recommendations.

_"You are fair, Mom. Andy is good, and that's why she's following her life."_ He remembered the speech of one of her Bobbseys, Cassidy, when she heard someone question her reasons not to destroy the former assistant career. _"She got Harry Potter!"_ And she laughed at the little blue eyes shine.

Perhaps the best reason to cling to. Andrea was good, nothing more than that.

— Miranda... — Andrea called her, demanding an answer.

— Six!

The voice of Nigel did Miranda almost groan of relief and hear the frustrated sigh Andrea, who turned to greet the creative director of Runway. As the editor in chief took advantage of the distraction to escape his inquisition and restore control of beats her chest.

The bathroom door closed, and only her encounter with herself in the mirror. It was unacceptable that she could control an entire magazine, the world of fashion and two mischievous creatures at home, but not the way she behave in front of Andrea. It was unacceptable that made her heart jump like a teenager with the sight of the younger. And even more stupid as it sounded extremely wrong.

The sound of the door slamming made Miranda's heart miss a beat and to realize who entered, accelerate at once. She rolled his eyes by the petulance of their feelings, and returned to slide lipstick on her lips, ignoring the presence of the youngest at her side.

— Here's your autograph. — Andy let out with that cold voice and reached out, containing the copy of her book. — Do not ask me for an autograph if hadn't interest in taking it.

Miranda watched her for reflection and could see fire in those brown eyes. There was something that was much more pleasing than would admit Andrea was far from possessing that innocence of four years earlier. Had become a woman, won some subtle expression marks and full bodied her twenty-eight.

A different glow crossed those eyes, was something that bordered on madness of nostalgia, but an acknowledgment that Miranda did feel bad. She nearly choked when noticed Sachs shorten the distance, breaking her personal space and putting her in the corner against the wall and the sink.

— How dare you ... — growled.

And as if like Andy took a punch in the stomach, covering itself with its best cold tone. — What are you doing here, Miranda? If it were to destroy me, you would have done.

— You always knew how to read me well Andrea. I believe you'll be able to handle it alone.

She took a small step forward, but his body collided with the insistent younger. Despair ran through those eyes, and Miranda shuddered with the gentle touch of hers hands on her arms.

— How was I supposed to deliver it to Nigel? — The brunette treated immediately to explain why the invitation — If not for the Runway and...

— Paris. — Miranda interrupted. — Why?

Andy blinked noting the small blush growing flushed in the older woman, and doubted that it had to do with shame. It was more anger, something that resembled a grudge held for four years. And it was not like the woman wanted to hide it, not there.

In one breath, Andrea looked at the rigid and freezing posture of the publisher, and remembered every moment of tension that has at his side. It was like a movie ran her eyes, remembering every monstrous requirement, every insult and her inability to hate her. She remembered how her heart was beating, how could not stay away. She remembered a miserable love that needed to be restrained.

— Why not? — Grumbled at wounded and accusatory tone, trying to get rid of fresh memories that took possession of her chest. No, she would not allow it all back. No anymore.

But Miranda did not notice all the fighting of Andy, on the contrary, all she saw was the hatred stamped on the writer feature. She noted that the reason for Andrea was due to the fact that it simply the idea to look like the Devil in Prada was one of the worst things that the girl could have heard.

Her face twisted, her eyes were even icier and Andy felt her legs almost failing. Miranda ran into the body close to the youngest, and left the bathroom in one hit. Nigel, who was waiting outside, heard only the dingy murmur "car now." Before those silver hairs get lost in the crowd.

Andrea went dizzy from inside the bathroom and blinked. Nigel, who was looking at the figure of the youngest, just clicked her tongue. - Six.. Shit, what have you done?

— I put my head on the guillotine. — She moaned.

 

*

 

**_Sorry - Halsey ♪_ **

On the kitchen counter, as they enjoyed a nice dinner, the twins told the adventures lived with her father in the preceding days. When Cassidy gave a little shriek and ran through the hallways - about the protest of her mother, Caroline looked at the woman she loved in front of her.

— We're not going away, mother. — The eldest gal said, holding the hand of her mother and giving a firm grip.

Miranda frowned, not understanding where this came from. - I appreciate it, Bobbsey. But why do you say that?

— You are sad. — The girl, now fifteen, murmured. — You are working more and...

— The weekend is all ours. — Assured urgently, fearing he could see a choice of more days with parents.

— It's nice when you are at home. — She confessed, and embarrassed with what would expose, eventually lowering the head to the watchful eye of her mother. — It's just that sometimes we feel that you need more to be happy.

And that was a blow to Miranda. When did she neglect the time with your girls? When that was allowed to leave them in deprived of your attention? When did she see Caroline lower its walls and open herself that much?

— Caroline, come here. — She opened her arms, and quickly infiltrated the firstborn in Miranda's hug. — You are enough, you know that, right? — She held the face of her daughter in her hands, reaffirming the greatest truth of her life. — You two are, and I would drop Runway for you today.

— No. — The girl's eyes widened. — I just want you well, Mama. — She whispered, leaving the child's voice rekindle that teen body and soften the heart of the dragon.

Cassidy stopped at the kitchen door, watching carefully the scene before her. — Mom? Caro? It's all right? — The afraid tone made Miranda smile and extended her free arm to get her other daughter.

— Come here ... — And the girl hurried steps to sink into the lap of his mother. — It's what you feel, Cass? I let that thought that you were not enough for my happiness? That I was unhappy with the life I have?

Cassidy bit her lip and thought about what he would say next, shrinking even more comfortable against the smell of her mother. — You are missing Stephen?

Miranda frowned and laughed. — No darling.

— Uhf! — She let out, covering her mouth soon after achieving a reproachful nudge of her sister. — Excuse. Well, but you may be missing having someone, I did not like Stephen, but if you want dating Mom, it’s okay for us.

— I appreciate the care, Bobbseys, but it's okay. The truth is that I think you're both longing and searching for reason to get lap. — Miranda joked, shaking girls smiled openly with the assumption. — I learned that the desire to repeat the dose of the Half-Blood Prince is huge and...

The girls jumped, looking at her with those wide eyes. — Seriously? — Cassidy questioned and, upon receiving the positive nod, looked at his mother again - almost knocking over the stool. — Yaaaay… You're the best!

— I love you! — Caroline uttered after kissed her cheek.

And magically, the two were already out of the kitchen, playing which character was the best of the saga. Miranda rolled her eyes and took a deep breath, she would not make the same mistake again, and she would not get involved with someone else just to satisfy the media or the image of a perfect family.

I appreciated the concern of her girls, but was concerned about the image that was coming to them. The very idea of getting involved with someone made wring the nose, but when the image of Andrea wrapped your mind, Miranda jerked away.

Putting herself to ward off thoughts and began to make popcorn for hers two little devils. Harry Potter ... And there it was again by far could hear her surly sigh.

 

*

 

The weekend ran faster than Miranda would like. Moved away from the twins was a difficult task, especially for having them tangled on her body that morning - after deciding they would sleep with her. The girls swore that it was not because she thought her mother was very lonely, but they said they missed and, well, it was not like she could resist it.

But it was not as if she could claim to resume her work, after all, she was bored easily and misses her blood boil as she walked through the halls of Runway. So, more cozy to see those two red head scattered on her bed, start the week seemed refreshing.

Half the morning went as expected, some incompetent not doing their job and small stresses building up on his shoulder. But a movement in the front hallway to her room caught her attention, the statement "Bloody Jesus" Miranda did pay more attention to what would follow. It was always a good sight to see Emily clicking like a headless chicken to and fro. She missed the redhead's time as first assistant.

— Andrea, do not! — Emily was reluctant.

And that name made Miranda's blood hit in the head and get back.

Miranda could even have fun imagining all the torment that Andrea went for two days, assuming that her career would be destroyed; waiting at any time a minimal movement of Priestly. The wait and the all non-event, should definitely have given a knot on the head of the younger.

It was true that Miranda had given a small opening, and it’s no action was proof that, somehow, Andrea was barely able to armored against the publisher. But go after her on Runway was beyond what Miranda believed that the writer was able. And again, found herself in an unfamiliar situation, his heart beating in his throat as he watched those black hair invaded his room.

The chief editor did not deny the eye roll, and continued to answer the email that falsely worked. Almost was not able to hide her smile when Andrea closed the door and prevented Emily could say anything. But the voice that she missed not done this right away, she could feel the burn look on her and the silence vibrate every part of her body.

— Do you not risked so much for coming here to stay silent. — Barked in her low tone.

— Miranda. — Andrea pointed out, approaching the publisher table and taking a long breath. — I wanted to apologize.

Miranda raised her eyebrows, surprised at such early monologue, but was unable to hold the apprehensive look younger. A quick look at how to indicate to continue, it was enough for Andrea to take a new breath.

— I do not regret having gone to Paris. — Continued. — Despite having been in a very childlike manner, I can’t regret it. And I did not think you would change to something, like you said, everyone wants to be like us, and it would not be difficult to find someone to replace me. After all, I was just a fucking assistant, a second assistant. What this would impact on you? If it was a humiliating apology you wanted, here I am. I may have won your statement, and I thank you very much for that, but all I won was in its own right and... — She swallowed to note that not received any decent look that woman. — It's not as if she could threaten me more... — Your shoulders disarmed and voice hid in his throat, unable to continue and sinking further into her pathetic situation.

— That’s all. — Miranda said the suspended chin, staring at the screen below the glasses and continuing their chat.

But Andrea didn't move. The big brown eyes were filled with tears and she refused to break again in front of this woman. But, _shit!,_ she missed so much, she just felt the smell of the woman and shocked her whole body. How stupid was the way she behaved, as if begging looking for a minimum of approval of the older.

— Anything else, Andrea? — And for the first time, Miranda raised her gaze wander slowly leaving the body of the younger, until you find the teary eyes of the younger.

Andy felt her increasing color, her breath breaking into sighs and how Miranda should be hating her demonstration of weakness. — For a moment I ... — But her voice broke again, and she disarmed completely. — Lets not believe it would be able to have something in there anyway.

The newest give up once more and pull away, Miranda knew it. She felt a pain in her chest, but did not know how to change it. For her there was no better defense than lift its walls, hide in her pose of editor in chief of Runway. Because in the end, it was all she had.

— I see you still can’t deal with the fact that I don't destroy you. — Slowly removed her glasses, so as to better see the girl in front. — After all, it is what we all expect, right?

— I saw what you did to Nigel, and I saw ...

— And where is James Holt today? — Miranda interrupted. — It was a project with its end already decreed.

— You're telling me he was saving the ass Nigel? That his act was commendable? — Barked in contempt, ignoring even their language and approaching even the editor's desk.

— It was no mercy, and hope that your vision remains the same about me.

— I saw you Miranda. — And the broke tone was back, ringing down while those brown orbs clung to blue. — I saw you.

— And that made you leave.

— And that made me love you. — She corrected.

It was a thud, those that Miranda couldn't bear so soon. She feared that the youngest heard the thumping against her chest, making she realize, miles away, how much those words had affected her. But she couldn't handle it well, couldn't miss the reins once more.

— Close the door behind you.

The publisher put his glasses on again, and she can hear the snort quitter Andrea. The youngest was already in her way out as she turned to face those silver hairs behind the desk.

— And that's why I left you.

The broken tone, a mixture of farewell, disappointment and discouragement, made Miranda raise his eyes in time to see Andrea go out again, without looking back. The chest tightness intensified, her mind was shaggy and she lost her ability of concentration.

Again, Andrea confronted. Again, Andrea was unharmed while Miranda had to pick up the pieces of her miserable existence. But this time she was the one who sought, it was she who felt the need to see her again and there was nothing she could do.

Recognized the courageous attitude of that naive girl, but still couldn't accept easily the hurricane that she would cause. She couldn't have destroyed Andrea's career, but would not allow that she thought she had some right on her, such as invade Runway and take a last stand. Was inadmissible that Sachs to turn the back to her again.

But still was a Monday, it was not as if she could be given the day to pass every attitude, every line. It was not as if she could leave the "love you" every second, echo in her head and get her away from their obligations.

The ringing of the phone woke her, and the voice of Melanie indicating the meeting to the mood board of Footwear would happen in five minutes, did the publisher to hold on to what she had to offer. After all, she still had a magazine to command, and in that it had full control.

 

*

 

**_I Still Love You - Josh Jenkins ♪_ **

Andrea was at her desk, which was facing the entire wording of the newspaper with a cup of coffee in her hands and her eyes locked on her computer screen. But her concentration was not on the beats of the keys, not the speech of reporters, let alone on the agendas in front.

At some point, she got lost in its own immensity and wondered if someday that feeling would create wings and fly away from her. She really had managed to leave that piece of months away from her head even having to undo all that connected her old job. As, for example, your magazine subscription and its research with the great events that knew Miranda was.

She was good at it, in moving forward.

She was where she wanted, or where one day she thought she wanted to be. But the last appearance of Miranda shook all Andrea certainties.

The youngest was seen without her family, which at the time had chosen the side of Nate, blaming their career choices as inconsequential and disloyal to who she was. Childhood friends turned their backs on all your choices, and embraced all Nate pain.

It was as if all she felt was not worth anything to those who claimed to love her, it was as if anything she chose was not important enough for anyone. And, believing in her miserable existence, Andrea had not allowed the new friends were so intense and intimate, because she feared getting hurt again.

And then, looking for all her life, she realized that was closer to Miranda than imagined. The work has become her life. Personal relationships were anything but personal. And, to go home, snuggled in her solitude and enjoyed her own company. But Miranda ended up winning again, at least she had the twins, some reason to return home.

She was not unhappy, not until that moment.

See the devil in Prada moved with all their protective instinct, and the walls it took to rise, fell easily to face the silver hair and the intensity of those blue eyes. Andrea confessed her love to that person impossible, that which dominated their deepest dreams and hid in a glass wall in her chest.

Andy confessed the woman what who had never confessed to yourself. And, at the time the word love out of her mouth, she saw herself fall apart. Shit, she was still stupidly in love with Miranda Priestly, and in four years had never realized clearly.

— Andy? Hey, Andy!

His assistant's voice rose, causing jump in her seat. — Sorry, I ... — jerked her head and concentrated in her eyes before her. — Yes?

— Mrs. Priestly is there and requires their presence in the conference room.

— Miranda? — She choked, her eyes widening. — My-my Miranda? — "My" ... Andrea almost laughed at his stupidity.

Cameron shrugged, as if the mere mention of that name was enough to bring it down to nothing. Andy could not fail to appreciate that, spent the years, and the Priestly look still had the same effect on people. But her heart rumbled when she realized it was real. Miranda Priestly was in her fucking job.

_Oh, shit!_ When she realized she was wearing a pair of jeans and a simple white shirt, her stomach twisted. That look, she would get that look. There was nothing she could do. She regretted bitterly not having left her pair of Gucci parked next to her desk that day, and had to face the queen of fashion with her pair of white Vans.

Worse than her clothes, would be keeping her waiting too long. So without hearing another word of Cameron, Andrea hurried out towards the conference room. If there had been no professionally cruel movement of Priestly, it was certain that the fast would end at that moment. And the idea of facing a devil in Prada did all her body hyperventilating.

Andrea took a deep breath before opening the door and put into a time. Miranda had a hand resting on the large glass table, her elegantly parked body with a slight hip break. The look was sharp, following every detail of their clothing, and Andrea had to swallow the minimum saliva from her mouth not to miss out on the fearful groan.

Andrea noticed the slightest movement of Miranda's tongue wetting her lips painted Marsala, and her stomach contracted sharply. The silence was excruciating and the youngest was beginning to worry about how that death would come, it was certain that she would not last much.

— How dare you stop me perform my job perfectly well by _damn_ three days? — Miranda growled, breaking the silence.

Andrea stared, watching the red coloring up the Miranda's exposed lap. Three days, there were three days she had crossed the halls of Runway ... And she opened her mouth to say something, the publisher raised one hand.

— Honestly, Andrea, believed it would turn out such stupidity and leave unscathed?

— W-What...

— I do not know what goes on in your head, but I had high expectations that were more than wind.

That's when Andrea understood what was going on. Miranda was behind her. There was fire in those eyes that could disintegrate Andy in seconds, but suddenly, the fear vanished. The youngest almost laughed with genuine joy that reverberated your body. Obviously, confess her love Miranda left stunned. And it was more than surprising, it was almost maddening.

The publisher was aware of what she was doing? Andrea doubted, however it was surreal that Miranda acted spontaneously knew that for her sake she had lost control. Meant something, no? For more than minimal and uncertain, for the younger sounded like an awakening more beautiful than had in four years.

— I see that in addition to fashion sense, also lost cognitive ability. — Miranda snarled the silence of Andrea.

— Dinner with me. — She dared once, almost choking on the courage that got away from her throat.

— What? — Miranda's eyes widened, unable to contain the look of horror that dominated her face.

— Today, at 8pm.

Miranda rolled her eyes and snorted, while maintaining the best expression of contempt as she shook the bag against her and approached the door. The writer caught her breath when the older stopped beside her, almost can feel the heat emanating from that body.

It was clear in Miranda's eyes that the answer was no, the last thing she would do is join for dinner. Andrea, of course, wanted to cower and accept that it will never arrive at the feet of Priestly. But there was some fervor preventing lowered her head, something that the publisher was finding it extremely interesting to observe.

Blue eyes fell to the soft bite the lower lip of the youngest, and, when she realized, looked quickly back to huge earth globes.

— That's all.

Low voice shook each particle Andrea, who observed the silver hair disappear from sight, leaving only the scent of her perfume behind. Only then Sachs took account as her hands were shaking, and her legs, finally, lost livelihoods, leading her straight to one of the chairs.

— Oh God! — Exclaimed, dropping long, controlled breaths.

— Andy? It's all right? — Cameron appeared only her head into the room, after seeing the hurricane in Prada through the newspaper.

— I don't know, Cam, I don't know.

Honestly, Andrea Sachs, you were _terrible_ at moving on.


End file.
